How the War Was Lost
by PrescitedEntity
Summary: A possible set of counterfactuals, or 'what ifs', that deal with or depict the ways the immense odds stacked against the Animorphs could have deprived the Earth of its rescue. Some gore and plenty of morbidity within.
1. Book One Never Given a Chance

Morbid, isn't it, to be writing about the Animorphs dying, being captured, and so forth? Very. These are written in the present tense for a reason – infested/dead Animorphs can't exactly tell tales, so it has to be narrated as the events are occurring; I hope it isn't too disconcerting. I'm underlining and italicizing anything from the original text; it kinda helps set the scene.

**Book One - ****Never Given a Chance**

Oh god, everything is racing through my head – I can't stop shaking. Oh god, oh god, oh god! This, the aliens, the – what were they, Hork-Bajir and something? – were headed our way! I desperately wished for the mental voice to ring in my head, but the Andalite was silent from his final resting place in the stomach of the monster that was now another Andalite, only not.

_I don't know who panicked first. Maybe it was me. Maybe we'd just had all the fear and__ horror we could stand. It was like an electric shock went through all of us. We were running __before I had a chance to even know what I was doing._

I gasped for breath, my lungs burning, cursing me for forgetting to breathe in my abject terror. I wanted to scream for us to split up, but choked on the words and the vomit I could taste welling in the back of my throat. We might as well have been a terrified herd in stampede, easy prey for the predators in hot pursuit.

A boy's scream pierces the night, sending convulsions down my spine and ice water in my stomach! Did somebody just get killed? Who was it – Marco, Tobias? I don't know, can't think, don't CARE! Damn it, I don't want to die, don't need the pictures of being mutilated into bloody pieces by those freaky centipede teeth! I should care, but god, I'm too scared out of my wits, and my life is all that matters right now!

A blur of blonde flashes into my peripheral view, screaming the words that I'd wanted to what seemed like an eternity ago.

"Split up! They can't follow all of us!"

I don't know if they can, Rachel, but they can definitely follow _some_ of us!

She's running along beside me, hypocritical as that is – I'd have said something about it if it wasn't for the absolute fear coursing through every cell in my body. Whimsically, I even momentarily forget our perilous situation; a sudden blood-curdling cry from the darkness to the left halts the diversion, however, and I'm back to running on terror, on shot nerves wound so tightly that I'm sure they're one twitch away from snapping.

And abruptly, my world became vertigo as the ground slipped beneath my feet, the sharp jolt in my left toes telling me that I've tripped against a hard concrete slab. My elbow cracks against that same concrete, sounding as thought it was broken. Rachel streaks past me, stops, and looks back; I shake my head wildly, like a crazed animal.

"Don't be an idiot! RUN!"

Concern for her safety is banished from my mind by my arm being lifted up; I'd have cried out in pain at the extension of bruised and broken bone, but fear permeates my brain and serves its role as the most effective anesthetic. It does nothing, however, as the blade attached to the alien's arm slices into my torso like a bar of butter.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

Warm wetness floods my shirt as my heart beats cool; looking down with wide eyes, I can see red-white bone reflecting the little light there was in the area. I should stop staring and do something, anything, to escape, but I can't – I'm held in thrall at the sight of the torn shirt and dark liquid over the pale bone. The terror is going away – everything is going away, all sensation. I...I can't feel my hands anymore. My legs sag as my knees buckle, and it's all so cold, so cold, like I'm freezing from the inside out.

I-I'm dying! No! I'm still just a kid! What have I done to deserve this?! I want to scream, but all my voice can manage is the whimper of the captured prey in its death throes as a dark haze fills my mind.

My head lolls to the side as my neck muscles relax, no longer having the strength to hold its burden up. As my vision darkens, I see the freakish alien figures beset someone – Rachel? – backed up against a mess of steel framework, but I don't particularly care anymore. No energy left to care...

* * *

So positively uplifting, isn't it? I wish it was longer, but really, there wasn't much left to say – nothing has happened at this point in the book. And yes, in the book itself, a human (Tom, I think) tells a Hork-Bajir that there's no need to capture, just kill. 

If you want more to drag your days down, review?


	2. Book One Impounded

**Book Two: Impounded**

I heard something breathing in the sea grass, and then it broke and ran! I was off after it before I could even think. It ran and I chased. I think it may have been a chipmunk or

something. I never could be sure, because it found a hole and went diving in.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps on wet sand – footsteps that no human could possibly hear, but were pretty noticeable to a dog. I turned, feeling the fur on my back stiffen in suspicion.

"Ah, another stray. Well, you'll be the last one before I'm off, then."

It was a dog catcher. He was going to take me to the pound! To him, I was a collarless stray dog, exactly what I'd wanted to seem like, but not for this! Freaking out, I lost what little control I had of the morph. Gotta get away, gotta get away, gotta get away from the intimidating man! I dodged his net, but he had a lot more experience being a dog catcher than I did being a dog, and he lunged, tackling me to the ground. I whimpered pathetically, scared out of my wits.

"Sorry, dog, but you're coming in. The Sharing or whatever's outing got freaked out, worried you'd have rabies or something."

No, I don't have rabies, I wanted to scream – I might be going crazy, seeing as how I'm apparently a dog, but I'm not a rabid! I struggled as hard as I could, but I felt the cold steel of the collar close around my neck. With strong tugs that left me gasping for breath, the dog catcher pulled me to his truck, shoved me into a cage, and slammed the door shut, leaving me alone with a few other dogs and cats in complete darkness. The other animals yowled mournfully, every bit as scared as I was, and I joined in, my brain racing. I wasn't a dog, I didn't belong in a pound, I don't know where I am, what's going on, why am I being caged? I wasn't a bad dog! I didn't do anything! I gnawed on the cage until my teeth hurt, pounding at the metal floor until I felt bruises forming on my paws. I don't want to go to the pound!

Suddenly, light washed through the truck as the doors swung open. I was bodily pulled, barking and whimpering, through the pound to the holding rooms, where I was stuck in another, larger cage with two other dogs, surrounded by unfamiliar, foreign, and sometimes, hostile smells. Terrified, I tucked my tail between my legs, staring pitifully at the dog keeper who came in and handed out food. She left with a pitying look, as though she knew things wouldn't turn out well.

I glanced around, not able to demorph for fear of being found out. I was now alone with a big gray dog and a smaller, brown one. They slept as though resigned to their fate; they'd obviously been here at least a day or two. Their sleepiness was catching – I felt completely exhausted, and the dog that I was wanted nothing more than to sleep. The instinct was too strong, and I felt my eyelids droop close as I dozed off.

Morning light shone through the window of the room, waking me up. I groggily get to my feet – paws – and was crushed with dismay that it wasn't a dream; I was morphed as Homer, and trapped in a cage in the pound. As I shook my head clear of sleep, recognition made my heart freeze in my chest.

How long had it been?

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh GOD. I'd arrived in the evening. It was now morning, meaning that I had definitely spent far, far longer than two hours in dog morph.

I panicked. Nonononono. That couldn't happen. I concentrated as hard as I could on being me – Jake, a human boy – but nothing happened, save a headache from focusing so hard, so long. The two other dogs eyed me curiously, as though I was amusing them with my antics while I paced and stopped in turn, hoping against hope that I wouldn't be trapped as a dog for the rest of my life.

The day passed, and it slowly sunk in. I was trapped as a dog in a pound.

The next few days went by in a blur. Puppies got adopted. The big gray dog was taken away; a few days later, the brown one, too, replaced by a yappy Chihuahua that nearly drove me insane with its incessant yips. I didn't even have the will to raise my head – I was depressed, and the dog's mind made me feel utterly depressed. I ate only as much as needed to keep from being hungry. I didn't play. I didn't do anything. I just laid there, wondering how I got to this point, considering that mere days ago, I was just a happy boy in an all-American family. How? The others were probably looking for me, but they had no way of finding me – I didn't recognize the shelter I was in, and I had no way of communicating anything to them. Most likely, they thought I had been taken or killed by the Yeerks.

On the ninth day, a person dressed in white – a veterinarian, I guess – opened the cage and dragged me out. I didn't resist – I didn't care any more.

"Sorry, boy. I hate to do this, but we just don't have the space and funds to keep you."

Wait, what did he mean by that?

"You seem like a nice dog, but I guess people want a happier one. I'd take you myself, but I can't care for another, either." Another worker suddenly pressed me down onto the cold floor, holding me so that I could hardly move. From where I was pinned, however, I saw a syringe.

They...they were going to euthanize me! NO! I fought and kicked, biting at the air wildly until the other keeper clamped my mouth down forcefully.

"Ah, he's a smart dog. Really is a shame – it's like he knows what the syringe is for," the vet said, shaking his head sadly.

"Yeah, but it's not like we have a choice. We're overcrowded as it is," the dog keeper replied, "Now hurry – I don't know how long I can hold him still."

Dammit! I wasn't supposed to die like this! Not as a dog in a pound! I'd never given death much thought before, but this wasn't how it was supposed to go! Old age, or even fighting the Yeerks, maybe, but like THIS? I struggled as hard as I could, but the dog keeper's grip was too strong, his body too heavy for me to budge as I felt the needle pinch in my hindquarters.

"Well, that's that..." The vet walked away, discarding the syringe. The keeper loosened his grip, but I couldn't fight against it any more – I couldn't gather the energy to bark, or even think. I felt drowsy and nauseated, my vision swimming as I dimly realized that it was over – the numbness of the injection flowing through my body. I closed my eyes to keep my head from pounding at the haze and vertigo...

* * *

A/N: And he never woke up. Wow, it's been a while since I wrote the last one – hopefully the next won't be so far in the future. And I'm going sequentially, which is why it's Jake again. It won't be someone else until the next book, heh. Here's your dose of depression! Also, since this was so early, Jake doesn't have control of the morph, and this is the voice he has with the dog brain.


End file.
